


a stupid trick of fortune

by mayleavestars



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e13 Armageddon Game, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Episode: s03e02 The Search Part II, Episode: s04e26 Broken Link, Episode: s07e24 The Dogs of War, M/M, Missing Scenes, Presumed Death, aka SAD ENDING but i think they'll work things out eventually, also appearances by Jadzia Ben Worf Kira and Ezri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayleavestars/pseuds/mayleavestars
Summary: Garak, Bashir, and the presumption of death, or: five times said presumptions advanced their relationship.





	a stupid trick of fortune

Julian wonders if it’s narcissistic to use a close brush with death in this fashion. 

He wonders then, almost immediately after, what it said that he would not have wondered about this a year ago; would have taken it at face value and barrelled on with this ridiculous mind game. Maybe his experiences have been humbling — the Harvesters, the phaser blasts, watching Miles die with no chance of saving him. Or maybe he wouldn’t have done something like this a year ago in the first place; maybe Garak is the turning point, here, the intrigue and the curiosity and the answering of questions with further questions. 

He swings open the door of Garak’s shop, steps inside, and calls out his name. It isn’t a very dramatic entrance, but he wants to see the results of this thought experiment as clearly as possible; wants to see Garak hurriedly emerge from the back room. On the way here, Julian had dared to picture it: a trace of surprise on Garak’s face, relief that Julian was alive; a new overtone of tenderness to their moments of hidden contact. 

“Doctor,” he hears the smooth voice say, and when he looks up he’s ashamed to realize that he’d missed the bulk of Garak’s expressions; he’s now being met with the same friendly mildness Garak observes in all areas of public interaction. “How may I help you today?” 

_It could be that he didn’t even know _, thinks Julian, but the thought doesn’t stop him from blurting out, “I’m not dead.”__

____

____

Garak fixes him with a stare that betrays nothing. “I am glad to hear that, Doctor,” he responds, in a way that makes Julian question the wisdom of his entire plan. “If not surprised. If I may say, you’ve been gone for longer before.” 

“Right.” Julian swallows nervously. “But I’m not always declared dead in the process.” 

Garak smiles at him, a smile dazzling in its questionable sincerity, and Julian knows that it was worth coming here after all — because even the lack of a response indicates something, because this game of intrigue exhilarates him, because he _knows_ he’s going to get answers eventually (from ‘who are you’ to ‘what are we’), he just has to be _patient_ … 

“I’ll tell you all about it at lunch tomorrow,” he says mysteriously, and then he does something he’s never done before. Garak is usually insistent on hiding the other side of their relationship, but the shop is empty and Julian is glad to be alive, and so he leans down and kisses Garak’s cheek. 

They tend to delineate clearly between spheres of physical and verbal affection; it’s obvious as Julian pulls away that this move has taken Garak by surprise. His eyes widen for a moment, and before the usual self-satisfied smile spreads slowly over his face there’s something in the set of his mouth that’s almost pleasantly scandalized. 

“I look forward to hearing it, dear doctor,” Garak says. As Julian turns and waves airily to him, he has to resist showing signs of adolescent joy on the Promenade. 

Dear Doctor. That’s a new one. 

It’s not until later that week that he’s having dinner with Jadzia and she mentions offhandedly that she’d told Garak about the Harvesters. 

“I know it’s complicated between the two of you,” she says apologetically. “But you’re the closest thing he has to a friend here.” Her eyebrows lift up on ‘friend’, as if she knows all too well that’s not all Garak is. “I felt that he deserved to know.” 

A lie, Julian realizes, and something alights inside him. _Caught_ in a lie — unusually clumsy of him. A hasty lie, then, banking on miscommunication. Unskillful for a likely spy. 

_Does that mean he cares about me?_ , he wonders — 

— When Doctor Bashir leaves Garak’s shop, plan foiled by the deteriorating remains of Garak’s instincts for espionage, he doesn’t see Garak lean back against the wall and inhale deeply, doesn’t see him watch Julian leave with soft and disquieted eyes. 

He doesn’t consider the image of Garak sitting up late into the night and staring at the false footage, hoping to offer his services and find a flaw within it. At no point, Garak feels sure, does he successfully imagine the scope of the furious, baffled relief that had overcome Garak on learning he wasn’t dead. 

Garak doesn’t wonder what Enabran Tain would think if he saw this display. He doesn’t have to. 

As he stabs at a pair of trousers he’s mending for Lieutenant Dax, he makes the familiar allowances. _He entertains you, Elim,_ he thinks distantly. _It’s no crime to miss that when it’s gone — is it your fault he’s the most interesting thing on this horrid station?_

He sews, lets himself enter the rhythm and hates himself for accepting it, reluctantly listens as a rare truth becomes evident to him: _That’s not all — he doesn’t just entertain you, he’s what makes your life bearable…_

And then he’s furious, at Julian for enchanting him, at this station for entrapping him, and at himself for succumbing to sentiment even here, at the edge of the universe. 

\- 

Garak is awake, and he had not expected to be. 

He remembers the final mystery he’d spun out for the doctor: a strange dynamic of self-destruction and self-sabotage, something to ponder for when Garak is gone. Julian’s expression in response, his devastatingly gentle words of forgiveness, are seared into Garak’s memory. 

Garak wonders, idly, if Julian had also forgiven Garak for belittling his company, for foolishly claiming to hate him, for every harsh attempt to drive away the only person who cares for him. 

If Garak’s really going to live, he is going to have to come to terms with the things he’d said, make allowances for them. He wonders whether he’s driven Julian away forever, and realizes belatedly that he can barely imagine going through the week without those lunches to look forward to. On an even more disquieting note, Julian _knew_ now; knew he was the only thing here that made life worth living. 

As if conjured by his thoughts — and Garak wishes now that he’d thought nothing, because he’s not prepared for the disastrous way this will unquestionably end — Julian emerges from his office. He’s rubbing his eyes; presumably he’s been catching a few hours of sleep. Something aches inside Garak at the sudden, clear memory of Julian slumped in his chair after staying up all night to watch over him. 

“Garak.” When he finally speaks, Julian’s voice is quiet; perhaps relieved, but it’s hard to tell. “You’re awake.” 

“Is that due to you, dear doctor?” Garak asks, and the set of Bashir’s face betrays the answer before he says a thing. For a moment, his hand hovers uncertainly next to Garak’s forearm; then Julian seems to make a decision, and it settles there. The touch is comforting; this far in, Garak is not willing to deny himself that comfort. 

“Due to _you_ , really,” Julian says mildly. He’s settled by Garak’s bed, now, and his thumb is sweeping up and down his arm in a presumably unconscious gesture. In the constant self-commentary Garak keeps up in these contexts — a voice that sounds like Enabran Tain — Garak reminds himself how pathetic it is to accept such an obvious gesture of pity. The softness in Julian’s eyes imply a similar thing; Garak doesn’t recoil from the look, and it takes all the effort he’s got. 

“You told me about Tain, about where he was. I came and asked him about the leukocytes. Synthesised them after that. You’re… you’re going to be all right.” Bashir’s professional smile falters a bit. “Of course, that’s not – it’s not the end of it, but you’d understand that. What matters is that you’re going to live.” 

Garak’s eyes flutter shut for a moment with the effort of processing this new knowledge. Tain. He tries to picture it: Bashir, earnest and naive and disconcertingly brave, facing off against the former head of the Obsidian Order. Facing off against Garak’s _father_. 

“There are men, you know,” says Garak, “who would hear what you willingly came up against and brand you a fool.” _I’m one of them_. 

“If I weren’t foolish, you wouldn’t have liked me so much,” Bashir replies, and stands up. “I’m going to see Miles about something. In the meantime, Garak, you should know…” He looks down for a moment, as if considering something, and then meets Garak’s look with the same steely expression that makes Garak believe Julian really could live through a confrontation with Tain. 

“You are not stuck here forever,” says Julian resolutely, “and there are people — there is a person here who loves you.” 

He turns around and leaves the room, and Garak is left to wonder at this parting phrase. 

If he’d left _people_ in plural, Garak would have dismissed it as empty drivel. A _person_ , and carefully-buried feelings are stirring inside him. Tain is laughing at him, his presence closer than ever, because Tain — no, _Julian_ — has just saved his life — 

— Julian has nearly walked out of the room when he hears a quiet voice say, “Julian. Thank you, for all of it.” 

“There’s no thanks necessary, Elim,” says Julian, and leaves Garak with that to puzzle out; wonders at the fact that he just told Garak he loves him, and wonders further at his suspicion that this is the truth. Sometimes, it’s enough to stop asking what the two of you are, to throw in a small drop of honesty and see where the two of you will take it from there. 

But that was what Garak had done, wasn’t it? “All I had to look forward to was having lunch with you” — it’s a declaration of importance in a sense, just a disquieting and impermanent one. He wonders if the reality-dimming nature of Garak’s implant was what had made Julian’s presence tolerable, and for a moment the thought is frightening enough that he’s tempted to run back and reassure himself that this isn’t over. 

But Garak, in full clarity, had grasped his hand and looked at him with the same fond expression a selfish part of Julian had feared the loss of. Julian knows he isn’t an expert in reading people, but there had been signs present there that even he couldn’t miss. 

When he arrives in his quarters, ready to sleep in his own bed for the first time in days, there is a new communique from Garak. _I hope we can resume our lunches promptly; I do so look forward to them._

\- 

Paradoxically, Julian does not have time to mourn the imaginary Garak’s death until they are well clear of the Omarion Nebula. In the midst of the action, he’d only had time for a numb, disbelieving shock. In practice, if the human brain worked properly, this would have meant that he did not need to mourn Garak at all. In reality, he spends much of the journey home staring into the middle distance and trying not to think of Garak’s body beneath his hands. 

In a quiet moment in that space, Captain Sisko sits down across from him in the mess hall. There’s something new in his eyes; Julian is suddenly reminded of when he’d asked Sisko for a runabout, back when he’d entered Cardassian space to save Garak’s life. At that time he’d looked unsure, as if unsure of how to tell Julian he was making a massive mistake. 

Here and now, there’s something gentler; in the brief time he’d seen the captain’s face when he’d pulled Julian away from Garak’s body, there had been a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. 

“I hope your faith in him is well-placed, Doctor,” Sisko says quietly, and Julian knows the implication: that the Garak of the simulation was more open, more heroic, than the Garak of real life. He doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know if it’s true. 

“Captain, I –” he starts, but Sisko shakes his head. 

“In the past two years, I’ve seen you grow, Doctor,” he says. “I firmly believe you should be treated as the adult that you are. You must remember, of course, that what we’ve learned about the Founders is strictly confidential until we hear back from Starfleet Command regarding what to do next. But with that said, as to the man himself…” Sisko smiles sadly. “I know that look, Doctor. I _lived_ that look. You’re lucky it was not based in a permanent thing. I wouldn’t dream of taking this away from you — and I don’t think you’d listen to me if I tried.” 

He touches Julian’s shoulder in a rather paternal manner; thinking of his own father, Julian briefly wants to cry. Then the moment is over, and he whispers, “Yes, sir.” 

“Not permanent, Doctor, remember. Take heart.” 

Impermanent, not unreal. Julian wonders what the crew of Deep Space Nine did to deserve Benjamin Sisko. 

All this talk of exaggeration, and yet the Founders had gotten one thing right before it had ever happened in reality. Garak is waiting at the airlock — hanging back, slightly out of sight behind the O’Briens and Jake Sisko, but waiting all the same. At understanding what this means, Julian briefly feels his knees weaken beneath him. 

Garak has a strong sense of privacy. Coming here is gift enough; and this means that, while every part of Julian wants nothing more than to throw his arms around Garak and reassure himself that the life leaving his body is not the last he’ll feel of him, he waits. Leans back against the wall, smiles at Garak tiredly in a way he knows doesn’t fool him. 

Around him, Miles and the Captain are greeting their families; Kira’s rushed off to send a communication to Bareil. Around them, the command crew bustles with activity, and Julian hangs back, his eyes never leaving Garak’s face. 

Captain Sisko is the last to leave; looking back, he says, “Debriefing at 1400, Doctor. Remember what I told you.” 

It’s likely he means confidentiality, but Julian’s unlikely to forget any aspect of the conversation. Without context, the words are easy, professional, but Julian feels the Captain’s opinion of him has been reevaluated. _This man is a fool, but he’s a fool in love_. What does that mean? Does it make him a worse officer or a better one? 

Then the two of them are alone in the airlock, and Julian is stepping forward and pulling Garak against himself. He stands there — for too long, perhaps — in the overwhelming relief of feeling Garak’s life beat steady beneath his hands. 

At last, Garak stands back and looks up at him. In the past three years, Julian’s grown adept at reading his ephemerally revelatory changes in expression; now, the wide set of his eyes betrays concern. Garak has a very expressive face, really, but some aspect of his past life has let him to suppress that fact; maybe it’s not Julian’s skill that’s grown, but Garak’s comfort in his presence. 

“My dear,” he says. He’s been dropping the ‘doctor’, lately. “Make no mistake, I am glad to see you home, but may I presume to ask what warranted this?” 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Julian responds simply, his voice catching. “Are you free this evening?” 

“I am free now,” says Garak, and as they step fully apart he keeps a hand on Julian’s lower back as they leave the airlock — 

— When they hold each other, these days, it does not feel quite as foreign as it did in the initial weeks. This, too, is foolish; growing accustomed to the intoxicating comfort of physical contact, the Tain-voice inside Garak reminds him, is a shameful mistake, and needing it from one specific person is a deadly one. 

Julian’s hair is terribly soft where Garak’s hand is buried in it, and his warmth overwhelms Garak’s senses at every point of contact between them. He has not disclosed much about what he and the crew have discovered of the Founders, but he has talked briefly about the simulation, and about Garak’s death. 

“Don’t you think it took a rather heroic view of me, my dear?” Garak says now, and means it. It reminds him of when Julian had taken Garak’s implant for a punishment device. The man’s understanding of espionage appears to be sourced entirely from holoprograms. 

“That’s what Captain Sisko said, too,” Julian replies cheerfully, settling his head more comfortably against Garak’s chest. He’s sprawled out on the couch, the entire skinny length of him, looking uncomfortably content for someone who believes — _knows_ — Garak to be an exiled spy. 

“I’m glad somebody on this station still has sense,” Garak sighs, shaking his head. “To say nothing of what you think of my marksmanship skills. Do you really think Cardassian tailors get much occasion to practice?” 

“This old game?” Julian asks. His voice is incredulous, but fond. “You can’t fool me, Elim Garak.” 

“Can’t I?” asks Garak; as always, his heart jolts a little at the sound of his full name said in Julian’s voice. Julian doesn’t answer; he’s drifted off to sleep, or just lost himself in his thoughts. In either case, Garak keeps his hand in Julian’s hair and stares at the stars beyond the viewport as he thinks of temporary deaths and passing dreams. 

\- 

As his hands move over the Defiant’s weapons consoles, Garak maintains the most Cardassian mindset possible. From a certain point of view, of course, it’s a _Federation_ mindset, too. Julian had talked about it once: 2285, the kinds of tactical moves they learned about at Starfleet Academy. The famous Ambassador Spock, hand pressed against the glass: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” 

Garak doubts Ambassador Spock would approve of this maneuver. 

In the scramble to get control of the photon torpedoes, his mind drifts to Julian, and to the last conversation they’d ever have. ( _It’s only natural_ , Garak reminds himself, _to return to these moments; the man has been more of your life than you’d planned over the last four years_.) Julian’s hand had been steady on his arm as they stood outside the sickbay, face turned away deliberately from the silent Jem’hadar watching them. 

“I know you’re going to ask about Tain,” Julian had whispered, leaning forward. “But please don’t do anything rash, that’s all I ask. You don’t want her as your enemy.” His face softens; for the first time today, there is tenderness in his voice rather than the distracted demeanor he possesses in the face of a medical mystery. 

“Rash, my dear? It would be a first,” Garak replies. As Julian squeezes his shoulder, Garak thinks, _you don’t know, and you’ll never know_. 

In the end, it’s his father’s legacy he’ll be inheriting: taking Tain’s plan and revising it with the benefit of success. For one un-Cardassian instant, though, he considers Julian Bashir on the ground below, soon to be killed by Garak himself. 

Then he thinks of Julian Bashir four months ago, pointing a makeshift phaser in Garak’s direction with tearful eyes and a steady hand. _What makes you think I wasn’t trying_ , he recalls, and smiles fondly. Maybe Julian understands more than Garak has given him credit for. (Maybe Garak had always known this, even as he’d thrust a suit into Julian’s hands and showed him into the changing room to listen in on Klingons.) 

And then his focus is back, concentrated firmly on the task at hand, right up until Worf’s hand closes around his shoulder — 

— When Julian, Odo, and the Captain beam up to the ship, Worf is waiting with an expression that reads business. Captain Sisko motions for Julian to take Odo to the infirmary, but Worf’s head tilts in Julian’s direction and he reluctantly says, “This concerns you as well, in a sense.” 

As Worf recounts the events of the afternoon, Julian feels numb. _You’ve been in love with him for years; he just tried to blow up a planet with you on it. Your murder isn’t even what bothers you; that would be the attempted genocide_. He wonders what normal relationships are like and then remembers he was in one, once. He’d ditched it in favor of frontier-centric notions that he’d had to abandon about five minutes into this assignment. 

There were things they didn’t teach you at Starfleet Academy. 

Captain Sisko is looking at Julian with concern, and he makes an attempt at a smile. “What’s going to happen to him?” he asks quietly. 

Worf’s expression is not disapproving, exactly, but it does remind Julian of when Quark had recounted an altercation Worf had with Odo shortly after arriving on the station. _Welcome to Deep Space Nine: our security officer sometimes works with our chief petty criminal, our first officer is a former terrorist, our CMO’s in a relationship with a Cardassian spy._ Julian doesn’t begrudge Worf the culture clash; he wonders what the Julian of four years ago would say if he got a picture of his future life. 

“I think we’ll keep it within the system of DS9; he’s not a Federation citizen, and the Cardassians are unlikely to...” Sisko trails off and starts again. “I’m not sure, Doctor. There will be consequences; a jail sequence, maybe. Under the circumstances… not a long one, and not off the station.” There’s a relief, at least. “What I’m really wondering is — what do you intend to do?” 

“I — frankly, I don’t know,” he hears himself say. 

“Doctor, I understand this must be difficult for you,” says Worf, still staring at him with a strange expression, and Julian doesn’t know what to say in response. 

_Yes, it’s difficult, but I don’t want to lose him? I don't know how and when I want to see him after this, but I wish this had never happened? Does that mean I love him for a sanitized, Federation-friendly version of himself? I keep falling into the belief that he loves me too, truly; was that misguided? But then, I love him and I tried to shoot him — what does that mean?_

‘What does that mean?’ That’s been their central question, hasn’t it? 

“I have to do Odo’s physical,” he says, and the two of them leave the transporter room. 

\- 

It has been four hours since Julian received news that the Cardassian Resistance was dead, Elim Garak and Kira Nerys dead with it. 

It has been about two minutes since he’d been let off work. 

If he lives to see the end of the war, this is what it will have taught him. When tragedy struck, you did not fall apart on the spot, even when the instinct to do so overwhelmed you. You did the job that was in front of you: you found the generator on Ajilon Prime, you bandaged Worf’s wounds in the prison camp, you let the host go and saved the symbiont. And you resolved to search for Jake later; you let Garak take care of himself for the moment; you tried with all your might to forget you were condemning _Jadzia Dax_ to die. 

You let yourself feel later, at a point when the emotions had beaten out their lifetimes and collapsed on themselves inside you, and all you could do was close your eyes and wonder at the absence of tears. 

This left you free to do the job in front of you for another day; then another, and another, and another. 

He should probably go back to his quarters and listen to the farewell message hidden in the wall, or do whatever it was one was meant to do in this situation. Here and now, though, Garak’s death feels even less real than the one in the simulation all those years ago — and all the more devastating, all the more permanent, in its unreality. How little Julian had known, then, about the nature of wartime emotions; how actively he’d felt, how he’d needed Garak’s presence. 

“The statistical likelihood that we will see one another again is low, my dear,” Garak had said to him in a hushed voice when they’d returned to drop Odo off. Julian had pressed himself against Garak like a man possessed; begged his memory to record every scale, every stray breath, every minuscule movement of his facial features. 

“We’ll see each other again,” Julian had said breathlessly, knowing as he said it that it was a worthless, inherently temporary act of denial. “Garak, we must. We must have something for after the war ends.” Garak had smiled sadly and not deigned to respond. When their ship faded from sight, Julian had closed his eyes, breathed in sharply, and thought, _don’t think about it now, he’s as good as dead already_. 

Garak is dead for real, now; their intelligence says that every cell of the Cardassian resistance has been destroyed. Julian wonders idly if Garak would not have envied the death of his equal in the Founders’ simulation: a quick affair that would have stopped the war as it began. Perhaps it would have been better, even, for all of them to die after Garak had aimed photon torpedoes at the Founders’ planet. 

Certainly, thinks Julian, it could not have destroyed more lives, upended more consciences, than the present situation. It was appealing, in a sense — to go out in a blaze of light, the prevention of a horror with another horror, a brief instant of pain instead of its impending eternity. 

But you can’t think like that, he reminds himself firmly; _you have a job in front of you, and the allure of past deaths overshadows it; the only way to do this is to get through it as it is._

Someone bumps into him; it’s Ezri Dax. 

“Julian!” she gasps; she bears the facial expression of a medical professional in over their head. Julian knew a man once who’d brought out that look in him constantly; it was the same man he'd fallen in love with. 

“I just heard,” she says, and only then does he notice her eyes are filled with tears. She hasn't learned how to hold them back yet, then; somehow, this is alluring. “About the Cardassian resistance.” He realizes only now that they’re in the Replimat; strange that he’s carried himself, unconsciously, to the place this had all began. She sits down at a table; after a moment of consideration, he follows suit. 

He’s not sure what to say in response, just looks down at his cup of tea and stirs it half-heartedly. “He and I have talked about it,” he says at last. “We weren’t upholding any illusions about the outcome of this.” 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when it happens for real,” Ezri says seriously. “It’s impossible to go through this war without losing people, but that doesn’t mean you stop mourning.” 

“Maybe,” says Julian noncommittally. She’ll learn, or she won’t. He finds himself hoping that she doesn’t, that she sticks to her words. Maybe it’s him that’s wrong, out of sync with how the rest of the world feels. 

He doesn’t feel like discussing his psychological state outside of her office; like recognizes like, and in Ezri he sees a conflation between her personal and professional lives. The subject change comes naturally: “Ezri — the last time we talked, we were going to tell each other something —” 

“No,” Ezri says firmly; she looks horrified at the idea of mentioning it. “Certainly not right now, circumstances being what they are.” 

“Please, Ezri — I could use a distraction, we all could. Just surprise me, just for a second.” 

Ezri waits a few moments, looking down at her cup. She doesn’t look like she’s about to surprise anyone; all she looks is upset. “I can’t _distract_ you,” she says quietly. “All I was going to say back then is that I was attracted to you. In the Breen prison camp, I realized that. There, it’s out, and now we can be friends without that getting in the way —” 

“ — But I’m attracted to you, too,” Julian bursts out, before any kind of self-control has time to stifle the instinct to reach out and latch onto whoever is willing to offer him anything. “If Garak hadn’t been in the picture, earlier, I would have said something.” 

“You realize how awful that sounds,” says Ezri furiously, and Julian falls silent. 

He does. He really does. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “That was a mistake. This conversation was a mistake. I’m… I’m not thinking clearly right now.” 

“You are not thinking clearly right now,” Ezri repeats. 

“If your schedule is free, I might drop by later. For professional reasons, I mean.” 

“You definitely should,” says Ezri. “Grief is — um, no basis for a relationship.” 

“No,” says Julian authoritatively. “No, and neither is loneliness.” 

When they kiss in the turbolift five minutes later, Julian grasps at Ezri’s shoulders and justifies it to himself like this: _if I survive this war, it will be because I had something to live for on the other side. He can’t be that if he’s dead. She needs someone too; she’s needed someone from the start..._

__

__

_And if I die, I don’t want to die alone_ — 

— In a quieter moment in Tain’s old basement, Colonel Kira Nerys sits down next to Garak and leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. “I wonder if Julian’s found a way to cure Odo,” she says, and her voice betrays the lack of confidence she has in the idea. 

“There is a silver lining here, Colonel,” Garak says thoughtfully. “After the Dominion so graciously bombed our resistance cells, it’s quite likely that the personnel of Deep Space Nine believe us to be dead. Should it turn out right, it shall be a pleasant surprise for the both of you. If not, at least the disappointment won’t last long.” 

Kira looks at him incredulously for a moment, and then a surprised laugh escapes her lips. “You’re learning, Garak,” she says. “That’s the kind of humor we used to employ in the Underground.” 

“I always knew we had things in common,” says Garak, and she snorts in response. 

A long moment passes. Then, out of nowhere — aware that he must not be lifting her spirits, but also that their spirits don’t have far to fall — Garak says, “Julian must have listened to my recording by now.” 

She looks up sharply. “He’ll be happy to know you’re not dead.” When Garak doesn’t reply, she knits her fingers in her lap and looks off into the depths of Tain’s basement. 

“You know,” she says at last, “when I first caught wind of Julian’s — _involvement_ — with you, I was so angry. I didn’t say anything to him, of course, but I had such a clear picture of it in my mind. This naive, condescending Federation doctor, one who didn’t care enough to understand what we’d been through but extended sympathy to our enemies.” 

“I don’t begrudge you this viewpoint,” Garak replies, and the Colonel smiles. 

“I know. But I’m here now, fighting at your side, and I’m starting to think that maybe Julian just saw something in you that nobody else did. You’ve saved all our lives a few times over, at this point. All I’m saying is that we have him to thank.” 

“Someone else would say he was simply taken in by the intrigue I presented, Colonel. You take a very romantic viewpoint.” He can’t fault her for it, though, not when Julian’s misplaced belief in him had been an overwhelming force in the last seven years of his life; not here, close to the end, when he musters up enough honesty to know that he would not be alive right now without that man. 

To his surprise, Kira’s head drops against his shoulder. “We’re all about to die, Garak. At the end of the day, what will a little romanticism change?” 

There’s a wistful tone to her voice; Garak wonders about the woman’s regrets, about the things she’s given up in a life of last stands and lost causes. Quietly, he responds, “Then I would say, Colonel, that Julian Bashir is an extraordinary individual.” 

“You love him, too,” Kira sighs. “I doubted that at first, but I see it now.” 

“Not much may come of it. Even in the unlikely event that we do live, I do not believe I'll return to the station.” 

“No, of course not — you’ll stay here. Rebuild. It’s the only thing you can do.” Kira’s voice is authoritative; she’s been through these rounds before, Garak knows. “But Julian likes frontier medicine, and he _certainly_ likes you.” She smiled faintly, as if revisiting a bygone inside joke. The picture she’s painting doesn’t have to be spelled out. 

It is not something Garak has seriously considered before now — a return to Cardassia in peacetime, with Julian by his side. He resents it almost immediately, because now the idea has settled and taken hold. It’s unlikely, nearly impossible — requiring their continued lives, victory in the war, the survival of Garak’s homeland and of Julian’s regard for him. But if the Colonel can think of Odo at a time like this, Garak can indulge this brief, fragile fantasy. 

He plays into the old game for a moment — lets the imagined Tain of his head comment, _so we are being instructed on the ways of love by Bajoran women?_ At the end of all things, though, even in Tain’s old house, it feels further away than usual. Once upon a time (and what a quaint human phrase), Julian had heard Tain condemn Garak to a life surrounded by people who hated him. Then he’d burst into Garak’s room with leukocyte patterns and an earnest declaration of love. 

If there is one thing Garak can still place confidence in, it's that he and Julian are still capable of surprising one another. Who knew what would be waiting should the two of them meet again? — 

— In his quarters on DS9, Julian Bashir pulls Ezri closer to himself and is shocked to feel, at last, tears spilling from his eyes — 

— They live in uncertain times, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE thanks to [jadzeanna](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/users/jadzeanna%E2%80%9D) for the beta. ily rubi and thank you for motivating me to finish this in the first place
> 
> this is uh. melodramatic and kind of unnecessary but The Themes were calling out to me. the title is from "going to maryland" by the mountain goats, a song about speculation and the presumed impermanence of relationships. 
> 
> the end of this can be read as a loose prequel to the jezri fic in the sense that they are both Canon Compliant Except The Bit Where They Read Entirely Against The Text
> 
> also i accidentally endorsed a bunch of kira's terrible het relationships. rest assured that were the fic from her pov she too would be busy with gay antics. and also: this now has working italics. fml


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